Here and Now
by Maiisbuns
Summary: For Ash, even going to Japan comes with doubts.


**Here and Now**

The difference between New York and Japan is that one of them settles. Ash notices there are almost too many differences. In Manhattan people would still be bustling through the streets at this hour, coming and going in an endless push and pull of doorways, pouring out into the messy streets and even messier lives.

When Ash arrives in Japan, the air smells sweet and free of the usual New York smog. Not long after midnight all of the shutters and shop doors are pulled closed and the city is brought to a peaceful lull. Even just outside of the airport, all that can be heard is the purr of car engines. The terminal is holding a population of only a handful of people, their voices are kept at a low hum. An old taxi putters forward. Soon after Ibe hurries out quick to open the car's trunk.

"I'm sorry. Izumo is rather rural." Ibe says, "It will likely be a few hours."

Ash asks no questions—has none. Ibe sits in the passenger seat, pointing out landmarks that are just a blur of lights against the mist. For the first hour Ash takes in what he can of the place. At first glance, the city of Osaka is not unlike New York; towers stretch upward, and shops are crammed next to each other, giving way to the occasional alley. Had it not been for the characters on the shop windows, and the empty streets, he might have mistaken it for home.

Not long after, the cityscapes seem to melt away. The streets bow to an expanse of fields and roads that later spring up into trees. Moonlight flashes by through the leaves, reminding him of the flickering tunnels in subway stations.

Ibe and the driver are chatting in the front, growing more quiet as Ash begins to drift in and out of sleep, his fidgeting fingers slowing until they fall loosely into his lap.

He dreams of the library, sitting at the table hidden behind a pile of books. People pepper the rest of the space, taking up chairs and walkways, there's a faint rustle of papers and chittering going on down the hall.

When he moves the books aside, Eiji is standing on the top of the steps that lead down to him, he is smiling wide. Without having to walk, he seems to get closer, his arm extends and sets an envelope on the table in front of him.

When he goes to open the letter the car rattling over an uneven road jostles him out of his sleep, the jump causes the wound on his abdomen to throb in a dull ache.

"I'm sorry—construction." Ibe says.

Ash adjusts himself in his seat to see out of the front windshield. A bridge extends in front of them with cones extending for what looks like it's length.

"Why didn't he come with you?" Ash asks groggily.

"Eiji? He wanted to prepare for your arrival. He has been preparing for the last month it seems."

"What's there to prepare for?"

Ibe doesn't answer.

The bridge carries them across a river. In some ways Ash wishes he was the one with a camera, able to capture peace in places he'd never think he'd otherwise overlook. As he watches the water snake below them, twisting past on either side, he can't help but wonder why anyone would want to leave.

Ibe turns to look into the backseat. "This is Izumo." He says.

Ash snaps back up to the window, making out what he can against the fog. The bridge must have released them directly into town. They seem to glide down the road at a slight angle. Through the window Ash can see a few lights littering the hills.

The houses are pushed together, though nothing at all like a New York brownstone. There's something—organic about them. Something easy, peaceful even.

They are exactly eleven houses into a neighborhood just outside of the main street when the taxi stops. Ash looks out to see what he assumes is Eiji's apartment building.

They walk through a balcony of doors, and Ash notices all of the shades are drawn and the inside looks dark, as though resting like the rest of Japan. As they take the last flight of stairs and down the hall, he realizes the distance closing between them. It sends a ripple of nerves crawling up his spine.

"Are you going to knock?" Ibe asks.

Ash shakes his head and steps aside, letting him lead the way. Everything afterward happens far too quickly.

There is no need for knocking, Instead, the apartment windows light up, and the thump of footsteps grow fast as they seem to sprint nearer.

They stop—the door slowly opens, and almost instantly as though in a stupor, the only thing Ash can hear is his own heart beating through his chest. Warmth begins to envelope him, it starts from the ends of each limb and pools into the middle making him heavy.

As though the night wasn't quiet enough, the two of them stare through the narrow opening of the doorway as though neither of them expected to come this far.

When Ash's cheeks turn red and he can feel the burn of tears beginning to gather, Eiji springs forward and knocks the weight from him, crashing them both backward and into the narrow hallway. The pressure of his body brings calm—the breath against his neck as he laughs offers comfort.

"You're here—" He says, and Ash feels his hands move to his hair, "you're here." Eiji repeats.

Their first night progresses in near silence between the two of them. Still, even through the nervous exchange of glances and unsure smiles, all Eiji brings is warmth.

Rain drums against the windows, and there's a faint buzz from the stillness. In the dark, Ash takes in what he can of the room. A bookshelf is in the corner, the LEDs of an alarm clock cast light on a mug on the nightstand, the blinds spill lines of light onto the bed and ceiling. He reaches over, putting his hands just off the surface of the futon he'd been given. The carpet gives into an indention of about an inch wide, only about a millimeter deep, as he runs his fingers along the lines he realizes it's likely where the bed frame had been.

"Hey, Eiji. What did it look like in here?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Ash hears the shuffle of the sheets.

"You moved things around, before I got here."

"Yeah, I needed room for you to sleep." Eiji says, his voice comes in closer now.

"Tell me what it looked like."

"Why would you want to know that?" Eiji asks.

Ash begins mentally moving the pieces, rearranging and fitting the furniture into their spaces. If the bookcase was positioned below the window, and the desk moved to the corner, that would leave ample space to keep the bed in the middle.

"I've always wanted to know what your life was like before me."

The room returns to the static of the light downpour. As he begins to drift off, Eiji reaches down, letting his arm dangle so his fingers are just out of reach from the bend of Ash's arm.

In the morning the house seems to springs to life. Ibe's airy laugh can be heard from the bedroom, carrying through the walls. When Ash wakes Eiji is already gone.

Quietly, he begins to move about the room, gathering a new set of clothes and setting them on the edge of the bed. In full light the room looks almost exactly how he'd expected. It's simple, if not plain. A few photographs are put up on the walls by push pins, medals and a small trophy sit on top of the shelf. Just above the awards is a framed photo of Eiji, mid fly-away, his eyes look focused in front of him, one of his hands is pulled back from the vaulting pole just slightly. Effortless, Ash thinks.

It leaves him to wonder how things must have calmed down in the last few months. And here he was, returned like an ever looming dark cloud, driven by nothing but his want to feel the way he did again. He wonders, in that short time, was he happy? Safe? Maybe it would have been better if that call for him wasn't answered.

"Ibe took it." Eiji interjects.

"It's—beautiful." Ash smiles lightly, "I wish I could have seen more of it."

Eiji shrugs. "I probably couldn't do it now, not even if I tried." He tilts his head, ushering Ash into the living room.

In the time he was asleep they prepared natto for breakfast. Between the scent and watching both Eiji and Ibe enjoy it makes the dish all the harder to consume. After two bites Ash swaps out his for a bowl of rice and an egg.

The three of them talk, and none of them bring up what was. Ash mentions his adventures in the airport, Ibe speaks of the drive, and Eiji listens with an attentiveness that is almost catlike.

"I'll be heading out after this." Ibe smiles."It'll be a long way back to Tokyo, and I would rather make it back before it's too late into the night."

Eiji adds something in Japanese, to which Ibe laughs. Ash can make out the words for "months" and "there" but they continue too quickly for Ash to try and pick up any more.

"Aren't you flying?" Ash asks.

"Fly? No. It will be much more convenient by train. Especially for photos."

"Be safe, old man." Ash smiles, "It was nice to see you. I owe you—for the ride."

"Please don't worry about it."

Ash can admit that without Ibe it will at least help to give the apartment a little more room. It only consists of two major spaces; a conjoined living room and kitchen, and a doorway to the bedroom. There's a small walkway that leads to the bathroom and a stacked laundry unit, but they're only about as large as a broom closet at best.

Little details, Ash thinks, as he finds himself moving things around again just to see how Eiji manages to arrange the space so they both fit. Somehow, once he figures out everything's original placement, he feels more at ease.

Before noon they wave Ibe off as he leaves for the station. Already Ash can feel the air beginning to settle around them.

"I missed you." Eiji admits, closing the front door.

Ash can feel a bit of weight chipped from him. "Do you miss New York?"

"Everyday."

Ash tracks Eiji's movements as he saunters to the couch. Body language can only tell so much, but he seems—relaxed, a trait he wishes he could share. Instead, the nerves rock him in the most subtle tremble, and his palms feel sticky and cold.

Eiji pats the cushion beside him, coaxing Ash to follow.

"Is everyone okay?"

Ash nods. "Alex and Sing are handling things while I'm out. Stuff's really calmed down. We've got an eye on the Lee clan for now, but other than that we're back to laying low."

Any residual worry seems to fall away from Eiji, his shoulders grow even more slack, and his fingers unclasp into his lap.

"I—" Ash hesitates.

"What?"

He shakes his head, wiping his hands on both pant legs. "It's nothing. What are we doing today anyway? I came all the way here and you're gonna just keep me in this apartment?"

"You always do that." Eiji laughs.

"Do what?"

"It's nothing." Eiji says, rolling his eyes.

Ash sighs in an attempt to exhale the unwanted stress, as though sweaty hands, and pink dusted cheeks would dissipate with it. If nothing else, Eiji is observant. He can get a feel for any situation but still goes in, not caring if the world comes crashing in around them. It takes a little reaching, but Ash trails his hand over the expanse of couch cushions until he finds Eiji's fingers, and by interlacing them he tries to do the same.

It isn't much, but it doesn't require speaking, and for that Ash is thankful.

"I'm okay." Eiji reassures him with a squeeze of his hand.

But it brings no comfort, and doesn't get across the message he truly wants to say, and causes him to pull away. There's something in the back of his mind, hissing and warning urgently to stop.

Like many days in Manhattan, they spend this one trying to forget. Despite their aching scars and wounds Eiji still smiles as he puts on tea, and Ash watches him, laying back with his legs draped over the arm of the sofa.

However, this time is different. They both can leave if they wish to, there is not a camera positioned in the window, and no gun nestled in the space between his hip and the waist of his jeans. As Eiji moves about the kitchen, Ash takes in that the curtains aren't drawn, and the door remains unlocked. And yet, there is still something that presses deep, imprinting the notion that there is something different to fear.

Eiji returns with a tray of tea in hand, causing Ash to pull himself back in from whatever was outside of the window. And yet, they still remain awkward, with Eiji quietly sipping from his cup and Ash fumbling over saying anything at all.

Ash looks out of the living room window once more, " Are you going to stay in Izumo?"

"No."

Ash turns back to look at Eiji.

"When I came back I stayed in Izumo because it is convenient."

"Then why aren't you someplace else?"

"I'm deciding." Eiji sighs, "Ibe told me to think about it. What I want to do from here."

Without continuing, Eiji grows distant again, and suggests they take a walk before it gets dark.

At the airport the day before Ash had studied the town. He knows the train station rests just south of the river, and only a few streets away from Eiji's apartment. They have a mayor's office, a pub, and a few fish and tackle shops. Every road in Izumo has access to more roads that lead outward, carrying them somewhere else.

They walk down into a neighborhood with gated yards the size of small bedrooms. Everything could be considered an alleyway, but even with the electrical poles and narrow stretches of pavement there is still an air of peace about them. The town wafts a faint smell of water throughout—a constant reminder of the nearby river.

Just ahead of them the mouth of the alley opens up to the street. Ahead is a courtyard and four floors of concrete and windows. The same students Ash saw only moments ago trickle through the gates. They smile, hugging books to their chests before running to their friends.

"This is my school, where I used to jump."

Ash can see it, Eiji in uniform, maybe late, scurrying through the school in a rush. Afterward he would go to practice, and there would be the same photo from on top of the bookcase.

"I like this place." Ash says, "It feels...like you."

Eiji shrugs. "I wanted to show you—before things change."

"Before what changes?" Ash says, and tries to gulp down the heaviness that pools in his throat.

"Last night, you said you wanted to know what life was like before I met you. But I choose not to answer that, because it's not important."

Ash watches him pause, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he fidgets. All day he'd been trying to fill in the gaps to close whatever the distance was between them. And of course, here Eiji was again, doing what he couldn't. There had to be something to meet him halfway.

Eiji continues, "You're a part of my life now. No matter what was before, you're here now. And I guess what I needed to know was—"

There was so much time in the first day wondering what was and not what could be. The pull of fear wasn't intended as a warning to shy away. So he doesn't, without thinking he's moved his hand to Eiji's cheek when they've stopped talking. Eiji places his hand over his, interlacing their fingers.

"Will you stay? Will you stay here in Japan with me?"

When he asks, Ash flinches, and as the weight seems to fall from him. And here and now—as he mouths "forever", holding tight to the fingers tangled in his, letting go of fear never felt so effortless.


End file.
